Among the wonderful words I received for my birthday was this poem from Cati Porter:

I'd like to tell you

When we were young we didn't contemplate
what we'd be like, what we'd like, when we turned
forty. We drank kool-ade and sat eating
cookies in the sun. The sprinkler churned
out rainbows so that we believed in them,
and in luck. Later, when love turned our insides
to butter we laid it on thick. What we skimmed
we now savor, not knowing then the prize
would forever elude us. Nothing keeps.
There's something tragic in that, and that we
can never turn back, even in sleep.
I'd like to tell you that turning forty's
not like a precipice, there's nothing to fear,
but I won't be turning forty for three more years.

Don't worry, Cati--it doesn't feel like a precipice from here (at least no more than any other day feels precarious and precious, which is pretty much every single one of them!) Thank you for your amazing words.